Trust
by Dark Akuma Hunter
Summary: What Tony wants is secrecy. What he knows he needs is help; an anchor in the rough sea of his mind. So even though he fights the intrusion, he had to cave eventually. Slash. Stony. Warning for mentions of self-harm.


**A/N: Greetings and welcome to another random one-shot from yours truly. It got a little bit out of hand - I intended for it to be much shorter than this. Oh well.**

**Trust:**

No-one ever thought that Tony Stark might have issues.

Well, _other_ than the ones he played up to the public eye – alcoholism and being a chronic womaniser.

Because no-one cared enough to try and see past the impressive mask he had built for himself, and he didn't trust anyone enough to let his guard down.

After the Chitauri fiasco, when the team was more comfortable with one another, he had secretly hoped that might change. He even welcomed them into Stark Tower – Avenger Tower was what he had taken to calling it now – in the hopes that he might slip and someone would notice and actually confront him about it. Hell yeah he'd fight tooth and nail to keep his silence, but it would be a sign that at least one person out of the billions on the Earth did care about his well-being.

Tony had so many issues that his issues had issues.

The laughable thing was that he wasn't even an alcoholic, or a womaniser. He hadn't slept with anyone since Afghanistan – wouldn't have touched a drop of alcohol either, except the public had expectations of him, and that was much harder to fake.

Occasionally he suffered from debilitating nightmares – every single thing that had ever gone wrong in his life, come back to haunt him. It was one of the reasons he spent so much time in his workshop – the longer he stayed awake, the longer he could avoid them. Lucky he wasn't much of a screamer, or the whole tower would have known about his night-terrors.

Then there was that tiny wee issue Tony had with trusting people. People he trusted had a habit of betraying him. It was best not to encourage that sort of thing. They couldn't betray him if he never trusted them to begin with.

* * *

Considering he spent most of his hours in the Tower wearing t-shirts, he had sort of expected someone to say something about his scars. They were too meticulously placed to have been workshop accidents. Natasha had seen them, her eyes missed nothing, but apparently it was none of her business. She wasn't really the caring sort though, so Tony shouldn't have been surprised.

There were two people Tony assumed he could count on to confront him about it – they were obviously signs of self-harm; sometimes the memories were too much to deal with. But Bruce and the Almighty Captain America had both let him down.

Sometimes Tony fancied that he saw Steve giving him odd, concerned looks, but since the two were still on slightly rocky ground he didn't bother getting his hopes up. Cap was probably just worried about team dynamics if they were called out during one of his sleepless phases.

Stupid Avengers.

* * *

The phrase 'Stupid Avengers' soon joined 'Fucking SHIELD' as mantras which ran his life. Ever since the Supersquad got together Tony's condition had been deteriorating rapidly. Each mission left him with more bad memories. The nightmares increased both in frequency and intensity, which led to an increase of forced insomnia, and added several new lines to the collection running up the inside of his arm. The knowledge that he had JARVIS monitoring his every move was possibly the only reason he hadn't tried anything more permanent.

That wasn't how he wanted the team to find out. It would only make him an even bigger disappointment that he already was.

* * *

_It was cold and dark inside the portal. While he'd known it was probably a one-way trip when he grabbed the missile, Tony had foolishly hoped that it might be quick and painless. Dying in a vacuum of unknown Space was far from either. His lungs struggled; instinctively fighting for oxygen he knew didn't exist. He was suffocating, and he could feel his heartbeat slowing. Tony Stark knew terror, knew it well, but this was the first time he had been completely alone._

_In Afghanistan, there had been Yinsen. And then there had always been JARVIS from that point on. But he didn't have JARVIS this time around – the Iron Man suit had completely shut down._

_And then he was falling and blacking out and his heart stopped and the arc reactor died and..._

Tony jolted awake, breathing heavily, drenched in cold sweat. His hands were shaking, but he forced one up to the arc reactor, reassuring himself that it was still working. Silently, through his sporadic, panicked thoughts, he cursed himself for falling asleep. He knew better than that. Sleep was evil.

He was too absorbed in assuring himself he was alright to notice that he wasn't in the workshop and he wasn't alone. It wasn't until the other made themselves known that the memories started rushing back.

"Tony? Are... are you okay?" It was Steve, and on a better day Tony would have teased the soldier about the genuine concern in his voice, but as it was he barely noticed. He was too busy berating himself for allowing the others to talk him into attending Clint's stupid movie night.

"Tony?"

A hand fell on his shoulder, gentle and hesitant. Involuntarily Tony flinched away from the slight weight, curling in on himself and burying his face in one of the couch cushions. He didn't need Steve to see the self-loathing on his face that accompanied his actions.

Surprisingly, Cap didn't say a word as Tony lay there, trembling limbs slowly calming. He stayed quiet, didn't try and touch him again, but he didn't leave either. The Man of Iron would have preferred it if he left. He didn't want _Steve_ of all people seeing him in such a weak state.

Well, better Steve than Clint, but only because Clint would get all awkward on him and tease him about it. Steve would never do that. Not Captain Morals. He was too _good_ and too _wholesome_ to ever tease someone about a moment of weakness – hell, to tease someone about _anything_.

And Tony knew he was being stupid, because hadn't he _wanted_ someone to notice? But this wasn't how he had thought it would happen; he didn't expect to be caught unawares. He _wasn't ready_ damnit! So he hid, hiding away his emotions the way Tony Stark did best – by pretending nothing mattered.

Forcing his breathing to calm Tony straightened out on the couch, taking a deep breath before rolling to face the ceiling. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Steve sitting on the other couch, facing him, and he conjured up his signature smirk for his silent watcher.

"Watching me sleep were we? That's some creepy stuff Cap, you might want to watch out. Keep it on the down-low. Don't worry, I won't tell the others, promise."

The words that spilled from his lips were easy. Observe, comment, tease; rile him up enough to get him to leave. Then he could allow himself to panic just a little. Normally it worked like a charm – they simply rubbed each other the wrong way most of the time. This time luck was against him. Steve's expression sunk into a frown, but he didn't move an inch.

"Tony, was that... a _nightmare_?" Steve's eyes were wide as he thought it over, saying the word like he couldn't imagine it ever applying to _Tony Stark_. Of course, Tony huffed bitterly, what could he _possibly_ have nightmares about? He'd _never_ been in any _life-threatening situations_, never _died_ – because that's what had happened, through the portal; though he disliked thinking about it, he knew full well he had been dead. Some day he should really thank the Hulk for saving him.

And Steve was still there and still watching him and Tony didn't know what to say. He was stumped – angry, sure; disappointed, a little. He hadn't picked Rogers for the oblivious type, thought he'd know better than to make snap judgements from other people's opinions, but apparently he was wrong, if he could react like this about the idea of something _normal_ and _human_ happening to him.

Refusing to give in to those concerned blue eyes Tony looked away from Steve and carefully pulled all of his emotions back behind his many walls, locking them firmly away for until he was alone, with only JARVIS as his witness. Blank mask in place he sat up, ignoring the slight tremors that raced along his legs as he did so. Standing was difficult – it was too soon – but his movements didn't appear anything less than his usual grace in the darkness of the room, even to Steve's careful gaze.

"Don't be stupid," he chastised calmly as he walked towards the door, his target the elevator at the end of the hall, "it was stomach cramps. There's a reason I don't eat most of the time." It was a lie, blatant – he hadn't eaten anything during the movie, instead watching as Clint tried and failed to eat his entire bowl of popcorn by throwing pieces into the air to catch in his mouth. Steve knew it too, but if he said it convincingly enough, perhaps he would leave him be; at least let it stump the Captain for long enough for Tony to escape.

It worked too. Or at least, Tony thought it had, till the elevator doors opened on his floor and he found himself staring straight at Steve's chest – damn him for being taller than him! He'd taken the stairs, at a sprint by the looks of things, and _why did the Tower even have stairs when he had perfectly good elevators?!_ Moments like this were a perfectly reasonable excuse to ignore fire-safety and building codes for his own peace of mind, right? Right. Of course it was, because he was Tony Stark and it was his building. He'd have to do something about those stairs later.

"Well, someone's awfully chipper for..." Tony checked his watch, also using the movement as an excuse to take a step back, wondering if it was worth trying to shut the elevator doors in the Captain's face, "half past two in the morning. Huh, that's not even that late." Late, early, he had a skewed view on those things when it came to time and avoiding sleep. Which is what he had planned on doing, but obviously it had been _too_ obvious he would escape to his workshop. He needed more floors in this damn tower. More places to run to. Or he needed to put some serious locking mechanisms on the door to the stairs. That might work, as a temporary solution, until Cap there got mad enough to just break the door down.

"_Tony_, you can't just run away from these things!"

Oh, like Steve suddenly knew what was best for him?

Tony wanted to snap at him, but instead lifted his head to gaze blankly at the super-soldier. He'd never made much of an effort to truly close himself off around any of the Avengers before, and the effect it had on Steve was incredibly telling. He paled a shade or two, shock spreading across his face.

Good. Perhaps _now_ he'd get the message and _back off_.

At any rate, Tony used the moment to push past Steve with little resistance. He was here now, so he might as well go do _something_ in the workshop. There were always new things he could do to improve his suit.

Steve didn't follow him, and a tiny bit of Tony was disappointed about it. He quickly shoved it to the back of his mind and immersed himself in blueprints for new designs.

* * *

The next day – well, the next time Tony emerged from the workshop; he wasn't sure how long he was down there, and hadn't bothered asking JARVIS – Steve didn't mention the incident, and Tony acted like it never happened, although he caught more of the man's concerned looks than he normally did.

_He's worried about your mental state. If he can fix your insomnia he can improve the team._

It was never about _Tony_, it was about what Tony could do for other people. Another constant in his life. And people wondered why he kept things to himself.

Still, that was the closest he had ever been to 'talking about his feelings' since the whole thing started. It had been a confrontation, albeit not a very good one. It was always going to be a tough battle, forcing himself to talk, and if Steve gave up that easily then there was no point in it. He'd find someone else, eventually.

When his anger spiked irrationally, he picked up his third cup of coffee and escaped from the shared kitchen, secluding himself from the team once more.

* * *

He had an entire floor to himself – many floors, because it was _his_ tower first – so for fucks sake, _why _did he keep dragging himself to the communal kitchen for his coffee? There were _so many_ other options – the coffee machine on his floor; the coffee machine in the workshop; he could brave coffee prepared by Dummy, if he didn't think it would probably kill him; hell, he could even get some from a coffee shop down the road! If he had a death wish, he could even beg Pepper to bring him some. But no, his feet insisted on bringing him into the presence of other people. People he'd rather avoid, like Steve and his big blue eyes.

There should be a law against grown men using puppy-dog eyes. Even if the guy probably didn't even realise he was doing it. In fact, that just made it worse.

Tony was being extra careful not to let the others talk him into any more evening activities during his brief periods of contact with them. There was no need to risk falling asleep in open spaces again. He wasn't going to give Steve more ammunition for those eyes of his.

Deep down, under all of his walls, he wanted to believe that Steve was actually worried about _him_. That he wasn't worried about Team Dynamics or the likelihood of him falling asleep mid-air during a battle. Not that that would ever happen; Tony was very good at working on empty, thank you very much.

It didn't have to be Steve, but right now Steve was the closest thing he had. Pepper had conditioned herself not to get too involved in his issues – something he had originally encouraged, and was now regretting. She would have gotten to the bottom of it, if she cared enough to. But he had scared her away.

_Nice going._

His arm tingled as he was filled with regret, and suddenly the coffee he had been drinking didn't seem all that appealing. Silently he tipped the rest down the sink and left the kitchen, with the stunned eyes of every single Avenger watching him leave.

Tony Stark did _not_ waste coffee, so either he was a clone, or something was _seriously _wrong.

* * *

Clint watched him from the vents sometimes. Tony would have to be an idiot not to notice. It had all started with the coffee, and it had spiralled down ever since.

Clint watched him, Natasha watched him, Bruce sent him odd looks, Steve kept staring at him with those heart-wrenching eyes, and Thor was in Asgard. Tony was at least thankful for small mercies. He didn't want to have to deal with the God and all his enthusiasm.

The vents were the only way for unauthorised people to reach his personal floor, so he covered them all over, sound-proofed them. Clint could still get in, but he couldn't see or hear a single thing. It was all he could be bothered with. After all, he still appreciated air-conditioning every now and again.

Natasha didn't do anything more than watch him from the corner of her eye when they happened to be in the same vicinity. That he supposed was also something to be thankful for. At least it wasn't particularly invasive. Knowing her, it could have been a _lot _worse.

Bruce, well... The good doctor probably thought it was a bad idea to try and get anything out of him, as he was likely to snap back, and he really was rather paranoid about the Other Guy. He was trying to act like everything was normal – as normal as things could get considering the people he now lived with.

Steve appeared to have gained some new-found determination, and that was what terrified him the most. The man hadn't approached him yet about the nightmare, and Tony was pretty sure he knew what was happening; Steve was waiting for something else to happen to open up a window of opportunity. And that was exactly why Tony had been going about, changing the lock codes on the door to his workshop, and on the elevator for accessing his level, and on the door to the stairs – he still wasn't sure about those things; no-one actually _used_ them, did they?

No, he wasn't being paranoid. Steve really was out to get him after all. Perfectly justifiable behaviour, from a man with plenty to hide.

JARVIS didn't seem to think so. Tony wasn't entirely sure how his programming of the AI had led to the sassy, always worried British voice of reason, but JARVIS seemed to enjoy complaining about Tony's behaviour a _lot_. Eat more, you need to sleep, stop locking doors. But he was just an AI, and Tony didn't have to listen to him when it wasn't helpful, so he tuned out his voice; putting him on mute was a bad idea, just in case something really _did_ happen.

* * *

It was several weeks after what had silently been dubbed 'The Coffee Incident' when Steve managed to find his 'window of opportunity'.

Tony had slept sporadically in short bursts during those weeks, never amounting to much more than five hours in five days, and while it would have driven anyone else into exhaustion, it was something Tony was more than used to. Most of those quick naps had been in the workshop, because dragging himself to his room risked encountering his housemates – aka Steve, who was on a mission to catch him out.

But the nightmares could only be held at bay for so long.

The one night he actually hauled himself to bed – the floor wasn't comfortable, and neither was the ratty workshop sofa, and though he generally denied it, he wasn't exactly the youngest person around; sleeping on the floor would get to anyone though – was the night they sucked him under.

There was no quick wake-up this time. That was the only reason he could think of to prefer dreaming about his death – it was a quick dream, and he always woke when his heart stopped in the memory. The other nightmares had no escapes. He was forced to watch them play out, one after the other. With his mind having been so preoccupied with Steve the last few weeks, it was no surprise that he starred in most of them.

Steve, dying. Steve, getting ripped apart by some alien creature or another. Steve, and the rest of the Avengers, telling him he wasn't good enough, that it was his fault they failed. The Avengers fighting amongst themselves, fighting to _kill_. Then there was Clint, falling to his death because Tony hadn't caught him.

He never knew where most of the nightmares came from, really. Never once had he thought 'oh crap, it would be really awful if Natasha tried to kill Steve', but his dreams found the thoughts anyway. He always feared messing up, not that he'd ever show it, but it usually fuelled his determination _not_ to. When he slept, there were no positives.

As always he awoke with a start, breathing shallow and fast, trembling, shaky, and feeling like he was going to throw up. Sure, he'd managed seven hours of sleep in one go, according to JARVIS, but it wasn't worth it. It never was. He felt like he'd run a marathon or ten. His veins were on fire, and a familiar panic had settled in his core.

There would be no avoiding it this time.

Crawling out of bed Tony shakily made his way to his bathroom, retrieving his pocket knife from where he usually stashed it away. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

It was Steve who found him; of course it was. He wasn't authorised – JARVIS must have let him in.

Tony was lying on the cool tiled floor in the bathroom, watching calmly as blood welled up from the fresh cut on his forearm. This time Steve didn't say a word, silently retrieving the first aid kit from the cupboard and setting to work tending to the cut.

It wasn't _too_ deep, they never were – he wanted pain, not death – but it was enough for the Captain to adopt a grim expression as he worked.

If he had been capable, past the haze of nightmares and blood, Tony would have been talking. Distracting Steve from thinking too deeply about what he was seeing. Maybe he would even have kicked him out and dealt with it himself. Instead he lay silently and watched Steve work.

He'd seen the muscles before, seen what they could do, but it had never really occurred to Tony that Steve was pretty easy on the eyes. The thought certainly never would have crossed his mind if he was thinking clearly. Sure, he'd never been ashamed of being bi, but there were some things you shouldn't go near even with a ten-foot pole. Checking out the team leader with the forties mindset was one of those things.

Damn nightmares really turned his brain to mush.

When he was satisfied with his work, Steve pushed the medical supplies to one side and sat on the floor next to Tony, still silent. In turn, Tony pushed himself up so he could sit, leaning against the wall. He eyed the bandages for a moment before shrugging, and resting his head on Steve's shoulder. Seven hours of nightmares was _not_ what he would call restful sleep, and he was exhausted.

And hey, no-one could blame him when he fell asleep again. Steve made a rather nice pillow.

When he woke up feeling surprisingly _not_ tired, and Steve was still there – asleep himself now – by his side, he couldn't help the smile that graced his lips. Because just maybe that meant Steve cared some about Tony, and not just Iron Man.

* * *

The Bathroom Incident wasn't mentioned again either, to Tony's mixed relief and chagrin.

Everyone's eyes had zeroed in on the red-tinged bandages when he emerged into that damned communal kitchen after he woke up that second time, but since Steve had accompanied him downstairs no-one had said a thing, figuring he had it under control. That stung, though Tony shouldn't have expected anything else.

After having a go at JARVIS for overriding his locks, he had reluctantly thanked the AI in a quiet voice, before diving back into his work.

JARVIS seemed to take his thanks as permission to let Steve in whenever the man felt like checking up on Tony. That's what Tony was convinced he was doing, even if most of the time Steve would bring down some art supplies and simply draw. He'd never admit it, but the silent company was rather nice, and he could never bring himself to kick Steve out, even when he started nagging Tony about eating more – never sleeping; he was wise enough not to push that particular subject.

It was surprising that Steve was willing to spend so much time down in the workshop, stretched out on Tony's worn, burnt couch. Sure, Tony had plenty of reasons to avoid spending prolonged periods of time around the other Avengers, but Steve was pretty easy to get along with, and the man didn't seem to take issue with any of the others like Tony occasionally did. In fact, Steve was probably all for team bonding, so it was actually more surprising that he hadn't tried to force Tony to spend more time out of his workshop.

Isn't that what team leaders were supposed to do? Resolve conflicts and such?

Not that Tony had any _actual_ conflicts with the others – it was just, there was only so much time a person could spend with Clint before wanting to tear his head from his shoulders. Sometimes he got the feeling it was a mutual thing. He couldn't be the only one Clint could piss off by simply existing.

* * *

Tony was running on way less than empty. Empty came six days ago when he started carrying around a ridiculously large thermos of coffee after he almost passed out. This was running himself into the ground.

Locking Steve out of anywhere in the entire damned Tower was impossible, thanks to JARVIS and his accursed persistence, and Tony could see a losing battle when he was in one (even if he usually chose to ignore said fact). This particular epiphany – realising that for some reason or another Steve was too invested in his well-being for his own good – came to him as he sat on a stool in his workshop, face resting on the bench, as he tried to will the cool metal surface to jerk his brain back to proper alertness. That also counted as a losing battle, though one he partook in anyway.

Tony knew very well that, while Steve was sitting on the couch behind him, the man wasn't drawing. He could practically feel those baby blues drilling into him. Steve's silent vigil was ridiculous, but for some reason it made Tony's heart flutter strangely to think that the man was willing to spend so much time worrying over him.

Still, all good things must end, and Tony had resigned himself to succumbing to his biggest enemy – sleep.

Standing up Tony travelled on auto-pilot to his floor, and then to his room. He wasn't sure what happened to Steve after he left the elevator, and he couldn't bring himself to care either. After the embarrassing situation he'd been caught in last time, he really didn't need the Cap to see him in any other sleep-induced terrors.

Stripping off his grease-stained clothes Tony carelessly tossed them in the corner of the room to deal with at a later date, before pulling on a pair of sleep pants and collapsing onto his large bed. His abnormally large bed was a necessity – although he slept silently, he slept restlessly, and falling out of the bed was not something he wanted to be troubled with.

Sleep overtook him almost too quickly and, not for the last time, Tony sank into a ravaged land of nightmares.

* * *

Waking with a start it was all Tony could do to stumble to the bathroom in time to heave violently into the toilet bowl. There was nothing there for him to throw up, considering his lack of appetite, but that only made his retching more painful.

Shortly after he slumped over the porcelain a large hand started gently rubbing his back. Tony didn't even need to see them to know who it was – there was only one person who could get onto his floor, and only one person who would care to try. Without his consent his body leaned into the touch.

The nightmares this time around... He'd been spending way too much time around Steve. His hand on Tony's back was an anchor, keeping his mind from sweeping him away from reality. It wasn't enough though.

Accepting the glass of water offered to him Tony quickly rinsed his mouth out, washing away the acrid taste of bile. Then he placed the glass on the floor and pushed himself away from the toilet, slowly turning around so that he was facing the super soldier. Steve looked so damn _worried_ and concerned, and the dreams flashed across Tony's eyes again, and he just couldn't handle it any more.

Reaching forward Tony fisted his hands in Steve's blue – _of course it was blue, when _didn't_ he wear the damn colour_ – shirt and collapsed against his broad chest, burying his face in his shoulder and breathing deeply, trying his hardest not to cry, because he'd be damned if he shed _tears_ in front of anyone.

* * *

Normally he would be glad for it, but Tony was getting pretty fucking tired of neither of them saying anything about their little moments. If he had a therapist they'd probably be glad that he actually _wanted_ to talk about something for once.

Steve had been in the here and now for a year now, and was probably just about as comfortable as he was ever going to get in a time so different from his own. He'd ask Tony for assistance with technology, but for some reason it was as though everything else was somehow off-limits.

Everything about their... whatever it was, annoyed Tony. It needed some sort of definition, because he couldn't understand it, and he hated not being able to understand.

Sitting in his workshop, cradling a mug of steaming-hot coffee, Tony waited for Steve's inevitable visit. Believe it or not, Tony was going to take charge. He needed clarity, and one way or another he was going to get it.

* * *

Steve rocked up to the workshop two hours after Tony started waiting – not a bad effort, considering the mechanic had gotten up at a pretty erratic hour, probably confusing the hell out of his watcher.

"Steve," Tony greeted when he came through the doors, the first sign that something was off. He usually ignored the Captain's presence altogether.

"Tony," he shot back, friendly but confused, as he took his regular seat on the couch.

For a moment Tony was silent, leaning back on his elbows as he rested them on the bench. But, as always, when there were things to be said his silence didn't last long.

"What is this?" Tony asked, blunt and tactless as ever, gesturing between the two of them. Steve flinched and paled dramatically in quick succession, his muscled body sinking further into the couch as he scooted back slightly. Good. That meant there was a _reason _to this, somehow. Method to the madness.

"I don't know what you mean Tony," Steve protested, a slight quiver in his voice that betrayed his discomfort. His hands clenched in the fabric of his pants.

"_Steve._" Tony was serious, it was no time for joking around. "I need to know if I can trust you."

"_What?_ Tony, of course you can trust me! How can you doubt that, after everything the Team has been through?"

Tony chuckled darkly, shaking his head.

"I'm not talking about _that_. I know damn well I can trust you to have my back in a fight. You wouldn't still be here if I didn't." Tony huffed, inordinately irritated by Steve's... cluelessness. "If I can't trust you in my day to day life, than you're better off leaving me the hell alone instead, like everyone else does."

Steve tilted his head slightly in confusion, eyebrows knit together in what was a ridiculously handsome expression, in Tony's opinion. He shook himself, bitter self-loathing overwhelming the mundane thought in an instant, although none of it showed in his face or the way he held himself.

"... I don't understand," the soldier admitted somewhat warily, beginning to understand that it was an important conversation, but not understanding what Tony was trying to get at. The billionaire sighed, a harsh exhalation of air through his nose, and shifted slightly on his stool.

"Look at it this way. You have access to my private floor in the Tower. Do you know who else has access? No-one. Not a single person. Not even Pepper, unless JARVIS thinks it's urgent enough to let her up. After everything you've seen, I think even you can figure out why I don't let people go there."

Immediately, almost against his will, Steve's eyes darted down to the scars on Tony's exposed forearm.

"You shouldn't be hiding it; you need help," Steve pointed out firmly, picking out a piece of the conversation he could understand and focussing on it.

"Does this _look_ like hiding to you?" Tony demanded, waving his arms in the air in front of him. The conversation was heading off on a tangent that he couldn't be bothered dealing with just then, and it was tearing away at his patience.

"But then... why hasn't anyone tried to help?"

Rolling his eyes Tony slid off his stool and began pacing, trying to burn off some of his irritation so he wouldn't snap at the Captain.

"Don't be a hypocrite Cap, you haven't done anything either. The others are... well, saying they were scared or didn't care wouldn't be quite right but... Surely you've realised it by now. Just because we can work well in combat situations doesn't automatically mean we can mesh and become best friends overnight. We're all loners in our own ways, and loners don't make great company for other loners. As far as they're concerned, my problems are none of their business, and I can understand that." _Though it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt._

"Tony, I-"

"Don't bother. Just... forget I said anything. I'm going out." Tony changed direction sharply, ceasing his pacing and marching angrily out of the workshop. When he reached the garage level he picked his fastest car and burned rubber getting as far away from the Tower as he could.

* * *

After their entirely unproductive conversation there was an almost palpable tension between the super-soldier and the mechanic. When they were in a room together, Bruce would excuse himself, fearing that their stupid waves of angst might set the Other Guy off, especially since the green guy was somewhat fond of Tony. It wouldn't do to have an angry Hulk going after Steve for upsetting him, the one person who seemed to respect Hulk as a... person... rather than just seeing him as a big ball of rage.

Natasha and Clint stayed away from them as well, though it was anything but a willing decision on the archer's part.

What Tony didn't understand was why Steve still followed him around everywhere after he basically called him insensitive and heartless – hell, he practically insulted the whole team, and yet he hadn't said anything in retaliation! It was unnerving and he couldn't figure it out and he _hated_ not knowing, almost as much as he hated the staircase which apparently had a good access point to the vents for the bloody Katniss wannabe.

The constant presence pissed him off, but at the same time what was the point in protesting? When the Capsicle had his mind set on something he was more stubborn than Tony! (And hadn't that been a shock to find out?) And JARVIS was a traitor, but he couldn't bring himself to even contemplate reprogramming his beloved AI.

* * *

Eventually the stress got to him, just like Tony had known it would.

The duo were sitting in the hallway outside of Tony's bedroom when he simply slumped forward, arms wrapped around his legs as he held his knees to his chest, shoulders trembling ever so slightly. There had just been too much happening – he was getting unhealthily addicted to Steve's presence, the soldier had nearly gotten himself killed in their latest battle, the nightmares were worse than ever, and he hadn't eaten in days (though the last was a minor irritant in his daily life). Even people like Anthony Edward Stark had breaking points, and he'd just tipped the scales.

"I can't do this any longer..." He whispered, voice shaky with suppressed emotions. His fingers were clenched so tightly they were white, and the dull glow from the reactor made him look sickly in the semi-darkness. There was nothing he could do about it, everything had been spiralling down for weeks, years really, and it was as though he'd finally hit rock bottom.

Through his inner turmoil Tony didn't hear Steve crawling over to sit next to him, but he did twitch in surprise when a muscled arm wrapped around his shoulders. Part of him wished Steve wasn't there, but the other, more emotionally starved part of his psyche just wanted to bury himself in the younger man's embrace. A choked sob tore through his body and he buried his face in his knees, silently screaming at himself for succumbing.

"Shhh... Come on Tony, it's okay. Just let it out," Steve muttered softly, tugging Tony off-balance until he rested against his chest, wrapping his other arm around the distraught man to keep him there. It was warm and comforting in the soldier's arms, and Tony almost reluctantly relinquished his grip on his legs and turned slightly, resting his head on Steve's shoulder as the man embraced him. It was real, solid, something to cling to, and Tony allowed the physical emotions to overwhelm the darker pits of his mind.

In what the Man of Iron found to be a very embarrassing turn of events it took him nearly an entire hour to pull himself together enough for coherent speech and semi-controllable emotional responses. Even then though he chose to remain in Steve's arms, basking in the warm feeling the action instilled deep within him. Steve didn't seem to mind, only shifting into a more comfortable position.

"Tony," Steve said quietly, breath skimming the mechanic's face as he looked down to observe the dark-haired man in his arms. Tony made a muffled noise of encouragement, one eye peeking up at him for a moment, noting the serious glint in blue eyes, before he buried his face in Steve's chest once more. "I _do_ care about you; I'd hoped you'd have realised that by now."

Tony hummed in a non-committed manner, but on the inside he had to admit to himself that he had been too self-absorbed to truly think about Steve's reasons for sticking around.

"I wanted to help you, I really did, I just... I was _scared_. I had these... feelings... for you, and they terrified me, and I didn't want to push or let anything slip or scare you away or mess up and realise you were disgusted with me. When you confronted me I thought you had worked it out somehow, but you hadn't, and I ended up feeling even worse when what you said really sunk in."

Steve's arms tightened slightly around him, as though he was afraid Tony would try and run off, and the billionaire was vaguely surprised to realise Steve's heart was beating rapidly beneath his ear. Feeling the soldier take a breath to continue talking Tony reached up with one hand and covered Steve's mouth.

"You don't have to say anything else," Tony whispered, feeling Steve tense, ready for rejection. He could understand some of it now. Steve was from a time where loving another man was a sin, a criminal offence, and Tony _did_ have a reputation as a womaniser. He was probably the worst possible person for Steve to realise he had a crush on. At the same time, the fact that he had been so terrified to ruin what strange semblance of friendship they had built, it made him want to smile, smile properly, which is something he didn't often do, not honestly.

Steve didn't really appreciate Tony's sudden thoughtful silence though, and peeled his hand away from his mouth so he could speak.

"No matter what happens Tony, _you can trust me_."

Tony felt himself fall limp in Steve's arms at the words. Deep down he _had_ known that, truly he had, but hearing it out loud was something completely different. It was a relief.

More relaxed than he had been in a long time, Tony pushed away from Steve's chest enough to be able to look into his worried eyes.

"_Thank you_," he said softly, the most sincere he had ever been, with a small smile. Steve relaxed as well and smiled back.

Tony placed a light kiss on Steve's neck, laughing quietly when Steve started running his hand through Tony's hair. The gentle repetitive motion made him realise how exhausted he was. Normally he would do whatever it took to stay awake, but this time... this time he was willing to trust Steve to look after him while he slept.

There would be no instant solution, Tony knew that, but he also knew that this was a monumental step in the right direction. There were some things you couldn't do alone, and this was one of them. Steve was quirky and naive and strong and caring, and exactly the sort of anchor Tony needed in his life.

It wouldn't be easy, but it would be okay in the end.

* * *

**A/N: Yeah, so I'm going to dedicate this to Wingren, because I promised her I was writing this and she's been waiting for me to finish.**


End file.
